The Hot Stuff (2001)*

Price:
$5.00

*Not Accepting This Title

Frank Lenz thinks he's the future of the funk, but like any other pop musician, his future is only worth as much as his assessment of the past. Lenz knows his history, and the very specific type of overbite funk he's searching for can be found somewhere between Steely Dan and Neu!, two acts he seems to have studied mercilessly. Lenz nails that guileless, droningly-sweet soul on stomping ravers like 'Soul Sound Revival', as well as moodier slow-burns like 'Electric Light Battleship'. The most intriguing thing about Lenz -- and possibly his most valuable attribute -- is his ability to make music that's soulful and danceable, but doesn't seem inappropriate for our current shaky times. While The Chemical Brothers are still trying to fill dance floors and jack some bodies, Lenz is content simply to sway some heads, on couches(!), in the suburbs(!), on Sunday mornings(!), just cooling out.

Lenz is a drummer by training, and the beats here are flawless, though they occasionally seem less than original ('Take the Wheel' and 'Freak Train' sometimes sound like the melding of mid-'90s trip-hop and Doggystyle funk sampling, though the dated sound doesn't make them any less compelling). Cleverly textured layers of Hammond organ, brass and synthesizer effects strike a balance somewhere between 'Hey Nineteen' Bailey's 'n' turtleneck and today's more interesting dance-rock (Ladytron, Club 8). But whereas retro-soft-rock bands like Phoenix or even Air take '70s mellow rock and wring the irony out until the tracks are overly dry with kitsch, Lenz somehow strikes a charming balance that's neither flashy nor consistently catchy, but thoroughly genuine in its delivery. The Hot Stuff might not make it onto any hip movie soundtracks or get played at any of the posher, more lucite-heavy pop bars, but hopefully it will find its way into the hands of people who like to groove their way around the dishes, the laundry, the mop. It's the perfectly warm and cheery complement to loving your home, the skin you're in, forgetting the crap the world's turning to and dancing the twilight away. - J. Gabriel Boylan